


In the Dark

by frozen_delight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Banter, Episode: s11e11 Into the Mystic, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Season/Series 11, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 21:58:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5886871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frozen_delight/pseuds/frozen_delight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean can’t sleep. Sam helps him out. Coda to 11x11 “Into the Mystic”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MisplacedLonelyHeartsAd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisplacedLonelyHeartsAd/gifts).



> The new episode left me with so many interesting questions plus a couple of random ones, such as:  
> \- What is Dean going to do with the viagra?  
> \- Why does Sam appear to be wearing socks in bed when he was clearly barefoot in 10x17? In my headcanon Sam is nothing if not a darling creature of habit.  
> \- Is neatfreak!Dean going to ban Cas from ever entering the bunker again after Casifer wrecked the Men of Letters’ filing room?
> 
> Unbetaed, apologies for any mistakes.
> 
> Written for MisplacedLonelyHeartsAd – happy birthday! <3

Quietly, Dean pushed open the door to Sam’s room.

“D’n?” came Sam’s sleepy voice from the blurry outlines of the bed.

“Yeah.”

“Wassup?”

“Can’t sleep.”

Dean hesitated on the threshold, unwilling to disturb what had to be the first restful night for his brother ever since coming back from the Cage, yet simultaneously reluctant to return to his own room.

“Just get in the bed already,” Sam grumbled, making the decision for him.

Dean scurried over to the left side of the bed and slipped under the covers Sam lifted for him. He welcomed the warmth and the ever-familiar smell of Sam, though he couldn’t stop from wincing as he lay down.

Something had changed ever since he’d kissed Amara and witnessed the angel smiting—all the blows which before he’d shrugged off with a Vicodin and a beer now lingered in his bones like the weight of a hundred years. But the most troubling thing about it was that Cas had said Amara was weakened just like him. It couldn’t be a coincidence. And it scared him, deeply. ‘Cause what if his body was no longer his own? What if—

“Hey, old man.” Sam snapped him out of his glum thoughts. Loosely he slung a leg over Dean’s hip and rubbed a hand across his aching back. “No more banging your head against any walls, okay? Or any body part for that matter.”

“’S not like I was doing it for kicks,” Dean protested as he arched into Sam’s touch and snuggled closer. Sam’s chest was like a furnace of heat.

“Let’s keep it that way.”

Dean nodded, rubbing his cheek across Sam’s pecs, firm even underneath his washed-out shirt. He’d always be more of a tits guy, but his brother’s pecs weren’t so bad either, he had to admit. Pretty damn fine, actually.

After a moment of silence, just as Dean thought he might be able to fall asleep like this, Sam asked, “You wanna talk about it?”

Blatant denial waited on the tip of his tongue. _Huh? About what? Why do you think there’s anything to talk about?_ _You sure you’re not the one who hit his head, Sammy?_ But he swallowed it back. After Sam had opened up to him like in the kitchen earlier, it didn’t seem fair.

“No,” he said instead.

“’Kay,” Sam replied easily, like he hadn’t expected anything else. Without warning, he then added, “Not like I don’t already know.”

Dean jerked his head off Sam’s chest, heart racing fifty miles an hour, and stared into his brother’s glinting eyes. “What?”

How could Sam know? Had Lucifer told him something about Dean’s connection with Amara while he was using Sam as his personal punching bag back in the Cage? Had Cas called him after their talk today?

“Yeah.” There was an impish twist to Sam’s mouth, barely visible in the shadows, but enough that the tension drained out of Dean’s shoulders and his heartbeat slowed down to its ordinary pace. “You’re fretting about the filing room.”

Dean scowled. “I don’t fret.”

“Course not.”

“I’m just pissed in a very… _manly_ way.”

“Uhuh, you’re the picture of virile grouchiness.” Sam yelped when Dean poked him in the ribs. “So… what d’you wanna do about it?”

“It’s his home too, but man…I think we should put the angel warding back in place so Cas can’t get in when we’re not here to babysit him.”

“Good idea,” Sam agreed—no doubt he was equally pissed, since he was the one who’d spent hours and hours refiling the stuff; he just considered himself too mature to show it or some such shit. Friggin’ little brother complex.

Smiling to himself, Dean patted Sam’s hip.

“You gonna be able to sleep now, or do you need me to help you relax?” One of Sam’s warm, long-fingered hands wandered down to the waistband of Dean’s sweats.

“Nah.” Dean twisted lightly out of Sam’s grip. “I’m fine.”

Normally, he wasn’t one to turn down a free handjob. But last week he hadn’t managed to get it up whenever he’d tried to jerk off, something which simply didn’t happen to Dean Winchester, sex god extraordinaire. He’d never be able to look Sam in the face again if he found out. Damn angel smiting! Couldn’t those junkless bastards give a guy a warning so he could cover up his best parts first? And fuck, why hadn’t he popped one of those blue pills before coming to Sam’s room?

“You wanna drive to the steakhouse in Topeka tomorrow?” he interrupted his inner freak-out.

He could feel Sam’s laugh reverberate on his skin. “You trying to make up for what you did to my toothbrush?”

“What toothbrush?” With an innocent face Dean threaded his fingers through Sam’s hair.

“Can it.” Sam blinked. “The guy in the local drugstore’s already giving me weird looks ‘cause I keep coming back for new toothbrushes. Probably thinks it’s some creepy kinda fetish.”

“And he doesn’t even know anything about your serial killer fetish yet,” Dean said gleefully.

“It’s a hobby,” Sam corrected him with the over-patient air of an adult speaking to an educationally handicapped toddler. “Anyway, give my toothbrushes a break, okay? Next time, just…draw a dick in one of my books and be done with it.”

“Like John McLeod? Never!”

“Who?”

“John Assface McLeod. Dude. Don’t you remember?”

“No.”

“Really? The dick who drew a dick over the cover of your spelling book on your first day at school?” Dean restrained himself from adding _Real dick move_. He doubted it would get more of a laugh out of Sam now than it had the previous day. His geek brother was always sadly resistant to his sparkling wit. “You cried. You don’t remember that?”

Sam’s eyebrows rose high enough Dean might as well have been stroking them with the rest of Sam’s hair. “Sure, ‘cause _that_ ’s the most emotionally scarring thing that’s ever happened to me.—Seriously, why do _you_ still remember this stuff?”

“You cried. I still haven’t forgiven him.”

“Awww, Dean, that’s cute.”

“Shut up!”

Dean made a show of wriggling out of Sam’s arms, but Sam held him in place. As always, it sent a thrill down Dean’s spine how strong Sam was and how easily he could manhandle him. After fighting against Sam’s hold long enough to satisfy the claims of big brotherly honor, he allowed himself to melt into Sam’s embrace and resumed petting Sam’s hair.

“Night, Sammy,” he mumbled against Sam’s neck.

“Night,” Sam returned and moved his foot down to stroke over Dean’s calves.

Dean sighed happily and lost himself in the caresses of Sam’s foot until he realized—

“Why are you wearing socks in bed? You never wear socks in bed.”

He felt Sam smile, nose pressed into his collarbone. “You’re the one who threw a princess fit over my cold feet last time.”

“’Cause they were chunks of ice!”

“I _had_ just come back from Lucifer’s cage, what d’you expect?”

“Not cold feet.”

“Yeah, well, the heating down there’s really not what it’s made out to be.”

Dean chuckled. “I’ll mention it to Crowley next time I see him.”

Sam’s limbs tightened around him. “Jeez, I hope we don’t have to see Crowley for the next century.”

“Kinda still need his help with—” Dean froze. _Amara_. Fuck.

For a few blissful minutes, he’d forgotten all about her, but now the memory of their last meeting and all the confused feelings it had stirred inside him returned with full force.

He swallowed hard around the lump of guilt at the back of his throat. He didn’t deserve to take comfort in Sam’s arms, not after what he’d done. Not after what he’d do again, given the chance. Amara wasn’t done with him yet, not by a long shot, as little as she was done with the planet; he could feel the monstrous certainty of it unfurl low in his gut, in the clench of his heart. Not all of it was fear.

If he’d been a better person, he’d have fessed up and traipsed back to his own room. But he was too selfish to move, unready to give up anything his brother offered him any sooner than necessary.

“Hey, Sammy.” His thumbs brushed over Sam’s cheekbones, then slid back into his hair. If he could have encompassed all of Sam in that one fleeting stroke, he would have. “What I said back in the kitchen, I meant it. You and me, we’re all that matters.”

Sam’s answer was a reassuring low rumble. “I know.”

“If I ever forget…I want you to remember.”

“One trip to a retirement home, and you’re Mr. Alzheimer?”

“Haha, very funny.” Despite himself he smiled. “What I mean…if I…you’d remind me, right?”

“Having second thoughts about quitting Mildred already?” Sam huffed out a laugh and squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll fight her for you, tooth and nail if I have to, and drag your sorry ass back here. And chain you up in the dungeon if necessary.”

“Kinky.” Relieved, Dean pressed a kiss to the side of Sam’s neck. “…Thanks.”

Only a couple minutes later did it strike him that this wasn’t the first out Sam had given him tonight. If there was one thing Sam wasn’t, it was stupid. Dean had given him plenty of opportunities, yet he’d never probed. Why was Sam going so easy on him?

He realized he must have uttered the last part out loud when Sam said, “Because I love you, you big idiot.”

_Oh._ “Sap,” Dean replied, only a beat too late.

“Hey, I’m not the one keeping us up with one chick-flick confession after the other.”

“Sure are,” Dean grumbled, squeezing his eyes firmly shut. “’M already fast asleep.”

“Idiot,” Sam said again. If anything, he sounded even sappier this time round.

Dean didn’t mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Feedback is love.
> 
> You can also talk to me here: [LJ](http://frozen-delight.livejournal.com/) | [Tumblr](http://frozen-delight.tumblr.com/)


End file.
